‘I can only do what is here. But you / Have an entire congregation of choice’
I can only do what is here. But you
Have an entire congregation of choice,
If you are who they say. The child
Believes you cannot be, just
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‘The flirtations of insects and plants are furtive, hidden and often so brief that if you literally blink you might miss what exactly is going on.’
Dino J. Martins on moths and orchids, from Granta 153: Second Nature.
‘The origin of the dysfunctional family: spores. / Friend or foe? True fern or ally?’
Poems by Sylvia Legris, author of Garden Physic.
‘And the trees were safely tucked in. Their roots were rallying in the soil, in this coil. Would the woman also take a turn for the better in her last decade?’
Three stories by Diane Williams.
‘walking alone down a country road – / distracted by the slightly annoying and toxic / first green of spring, eyes overflowing’
A poem by Emily Skillings.
‘Whatever the aftermath, you won’t see the city again except through the agency of absence, recalling this semi-emptiness, this viral uncertainty.’
From 2020: China Miéville on the UK government’s response to coronavirus.
‘He twists biblical spliffs. / Curtains warble in the television light.’ Two poems by Collin Callahan.
The authors of Flèche and physical discuss the state of queer poetry in Britain, how to make poetry alive and what an anthology can mean.
‘Under the skin, our skeletons / are braided with tendons – roses on an openwork arch’ Two poems by Beth Bachmann
‘Instantaneous / Pleasure takes too // Long’
Poetry from Christopher Soto’s collection Diaries of a Terrorist.
The authors discuss music, the internet’s gamified reading culture and reading your reviews.
‘Those words made me wonder why I ever wanted to be an artist, why I ever wanted to live, though I never thought I wanted to die.’
